


Face Yourself

by schwing_for_me



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Insanity, M/M, Psychological Warfare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2020-03-29 17:27:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19024552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schwing_for_me/pseuds/schwing_for_me
Summary: A weary and tired dog lover fights his ever impending insanity by spilling his heart out to the only person willing to listen; a man who just so happens to be a murderous, intelligent psychopath.Will knows this, yet turns a blind eye for his own pleasure as he uses the psychiatrist as a metaphorical laxative for not only his emotional but his sexual constipation. Feelings inevitably bloom, whether they be positive or not, but the question remains; is Will Graham ready for the wounds they will inflict?





	1. I Need You

Will sat up abruptly, gasping for air and violently panting, eyes wide and unseeing. His shirt was drenched in a cold sweat, a sheen of moisture on his face twinkling in the pale moonlight of the early morning. The haunting crimson of a stag's eyes was burned into his eyelids, a curse that pulled him from reality each time he closed his eyes.

Nightmares had become a regular affair, ever since he had killed Garrett Jacob Hobbs. Nightmares were his anchor, the thing that made him sure he was still sane, that all of the dreadful things that his mind subconsciously imagined wouldn't happen while he was awake.

Because he wouldn't let them.

He believed that he was still emotionally sober enough to have control over his actions, disgusted by the images his thoughts conjured. So disgusted, that he was able to lie to himself, lie to his subconscious, lie to his therapist... that he didn't just slightly enjoy them.

Yet, as he pulled back his cover, which was twisted and mangled due to his habitual thrashing, his hands shaking and fingers numb, he wondered.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, staggering to the kitchen to make himself a strong coffee, he wondered. He wondered about his beliefs, these imagined concepts that he drilled into his own mind to let him sleep at night.

He may have been emotionally sober... Before he woke up covered in blood.  
Before he realised it was not his own.  
Before tonight.

\---

The waiting room was warm. The paintings that hung over the neat sofas were only slightly disturbing, which was a comfort, Will thought, to those incredibly disturbed.

It was warm, and the sofas were comfortable, yet he did not sit, nor did he undress. He kept his coat tightly zipped, his hat firmly over his head, and his hands in his pockets, waiting for the gates to his only save haven to open.

Will was scared. He was absolutely terrified of what might happen, what could be taking over him.

What if what the voices said was true?

No, he corrected himself. Not voices. Voice. A very familiar voice, that drilled deep into his mind every single day, every single night. Smooth, gentle, eloquent, with a distinguishable Lithuanian lilt.

It told him he was a killer. It told him he was made to maim and to rip and to cut and to tear. It told him to join it. To join the hunt.

In fact, the invasive presence in his mind had become so constant that he had become used to it, if not rather fond of it. He found himself talking to it sometimes, when he was alone. It would help him with cases, unlock information that was tucked somewhere in the depths of his mind.

Yet, despite its seductive smoothness, despite its familiarity, he refused to refer to it as Hannibal.

It was obviously Hannibal's voice, Hannibal's influence birthed it in Will's mind, yet it was not him, as he told himself many times when he was close to succumbing to its demands.

It was simply a product of his colourful imagination, of his unproved accusations and yet unachieved expectations of the man.

"Will?" That same, velvet voice rang out behind him, making him jump, ripping him from his daze.

The brunette turned to see a tall man standing at the oaken door, a concerned look painting his face.

"Sorry, spaced out," Will muttered, waiting until Dr. Lecter's previous patient walked out of the waiting room, ignoring the sideways glance she sent him, before pushing past the suit-clad man into his office.

Sighing, he flopped down onto one of the chairs and waited for the doctor to enter after him and close the door.

"Are you okay, Will?" His calm voice questioned him.

"I'm fine." ' _No you're not,_ ' it corrected him. "No, I'm not," he amended. "I need your help, Hannibal. You're the only one that can help me." ' _You could go to Jack_ ,' the voice laughed. ' _Or_ _do you think he'd think you're insane? Oh wait! You are_ _.'_

"Why don't you take your coat off and then explain. You must be uncomfortable," Hannibal sat down opposite to him, crossing his legs regally.

"I'd rather not. I wouldn't want to get blood on your furniture." Will said matter-of-factly, tugging his coat around him and looking the doctor in the eye. ' _I wouldn't think you'd actually care that much about the furniture, per say..._ _'_

"Why, are you bleeding, Will?" Hannibal leaned forward, concerned. He shook his head.

"No, I'm okay."

"Not your blood?" Hannibal caught on, eyes hardening. Will didn't answer. "Whose?" He pressed.

Will finally looked away from Hannibal's maroon eyes, casting his vision down.

"I'm not entirely sure. I think it's Thomas Caster's-"

"The man who went missing a week ago. Interesting."

Will blanched, jarred by the psychiatrist's calm demeanor, yet not entirely surprised by it.

"I woke up this morning covered in his blood, Hannibal. I dreamt that I hunted him, dreamt that I chased him like a rabid animal. I ripped his throat out with my teeth. I opened his rib cage like it was made out of butter. I hung his body with his own intestines, I-"

"And you're still in the clothes you woke up in? Did you not think to change?" Hannibal dismissed his panicked rant.

"That's your problem with this? Anyway, I didn't want to leave any evidence behind. You know how Jack is, always snooping around in other people's business," Will explained, exasperated. ' _Plus, you were too scared to do anything save from coming here, weren't you? You were shaking like a child, not that you'd ever admit it,_ _'_ it added, its nonchalant seriousness unfaltering.

"And so you brought the incriminating evidence here instead, thank you for that," Hannibal sighed. "Go, take a shower. I'll prepare some clothes for you. Leave the bloody ones in the bin," he instructed.

Will nodded mutely, practically running to the bathroom. The voice sighed. ' _You should kill him,'_ it nagged him, again. It did every time he saw Hannibal, without fail. ' _It would be so easy. He trusts you. Just kill him.'_

As Will stood under the hot water, rubbing the blood away from his skin, washing away his worries, he pushed those thoughts aside. Hannibal was the only person who wouldn't feel inclined to throw him in a mental ward once he confessed. He needed that right now.

Once he was sure that not an inch of blood was left to stain his skin, he pushed aside the shower curtain and stepped out of the bathtub slowly.

The bathroom was beautiful; it's high domes and cozy cream colours adorned with winding thorned flowers certainly fit the atmosphere of the rest of the house. It was big and spacious, old fashioned, yet equipped with all modern necessities. Will wondered in awe for a moment as to how much it must have cost to renovate the house in this way. A small fortune, no doubt.

He spied a pile of neatly folded clothes resting on the toilet seat, the realisation dawning that Hannibal must have been in the bathroom while he was showering, since the bin had also been emptied. He was less discomfited by that thought than he maybe should have been, as he pulled on a pair of slightly oversized black boxer shorts and an even more oversized baby blue shirt. It was silk, he noted, as the cold fabric slipped over his worn skin, which was sore and tender from the scrubbing he just gave it.

He returned to find Hannibal in his office chair, looking through what he assumed were his notes on patients. He heard Will coming; his back tensed only slightly, hands pausing on the pages he was flipping through.

"So, Will," the tall man looked up at the brunette, "I think I'm right in saying you have a certain... Suspicion towards me? You have accused me of murder several times, after all," he said, a smirk pulling up the corners of his lips.

 _'I think suspicion is putting it lightly...'_ "Yes, I do. I believe, among other things, that you are indeed the intelligent psychopath we have been looking for," Will stated, sitting on the loveseat beside the window and pulling his legs up to his chest.

"And still, bearing this acclaimed knowledge you have in mind, you came to me?" Hannibal questioned incredulously, one eyebrow rising.

"No. I came to you _especially_ because I believe all that stuff," Will said. _'All that_ _stuff. What an artistic way of putting it. Your vocabulary is booming these days, William,'_ the voice commented, dripping with unadulterated sarcasm. Will ignored it.

Hannibal sat in silence for a moment. "I am assuming you thought, then," he started, "that since I am the psychopathic killer you perceive me to be, that I would not judge nor discriminate against you, thus making me an effective outlet for your emotions, correct?" He questioned in a somewhat scolding tone that instinctively made Will feel guilty.

"Pretty much," the brunette answered sheepishly. "There might be something more to why I came here, but for now I'm in denial." ' _Oh, sure you are. Christ, if I'm going to listen to your whining about him one more time I will auto-defenestrate. And you're coming with me.'_

"In denial? So disregarding that, you decided to risk everything and let the chips fall where they may?"

"No, Hannibal. I didn't risk everything coming here. I may be in denial but I at least know how to acknowledge the facts. I know you're fond of me, for reasons that I'm not even going to try to comprehend; my imagination doesn't stretch that far into the void." _'You're not that far off though.'_

Hannibal chuckled, leaning forward. "Your point is?"

Will sighed, tugging at the loosely buttoned silk shirt that had slowly been sliding off of one of his shoulders. "I think, and this scares me beyond anything I've ever experienced, that I might be a bit fond of you too."

' _You mean, you 'love' him, you idiot. You should love me.'_

^^^

_**"When the fox hears the rabbit scream, it comes a-** _ _**runnin** _ _**', but not to help."** _


	2. Save Me

"Fond?" Hannibal questioned. "In what way do you mean? Do you no longer desire to kill me?"

"Oh I do. More than ever these days in fact," Will chuckled, the smile not reaching his eyes. _'And guess who's fault that is. Don't you love me, Will? You hate this man, don't you? You love me. Kill him.'_ Will winced. He didn't want to, not really. But the voice was compelling, a wrathful force.

"So what has changed in your outlook?" The doctor pressed.

"Is this a therapy session, Dr. Lecter?"

"No," Hannibal smirked, leaning back. "I am simply curious as to what has you so _fond_ of me, as you put it."

Will nodded absent-mindedly. He had just noticed that Hannibal's tie was yellow- not a striking yellow, mind, but a subtle golden tone that went perfectly with a sky blue suit. He didn't know when he had started imagining ripping it off the man, but the voice cackled as he started to unbutton a pristine white shirt, hands roaming, ravaging the older man's body-

"-ill? Will!" Hannibal's condescending tone broke him from his quickly-becoming-lewd daze. "You didn't answer my question." _'Yes, he didn't answer. He was too busy going even more crazy, tut tut.'_

"Sorry, what?" Will shook his head to clear his mind of the inappropriate thoughts. This really was getting out of hand; whether the voice was driving him insane or whether it was purely external forces, he didn't know, but he was sure of one thing. He was rapidly spiralling downwards, the descent into the pit of insanity quickly becoming too grave for him to climb out of.

 _'My pit,'_ the voice cackled. _'My home.'_

"I was just asking what made your positive feelings towards me grow," Hannibal repeated, a calm patience painting his tranquil face. "Yet I see you are otherwise distracted."

"No, I'm just-"

"Worried?"

"Leaning more towards scared, to be honest," Will admitted sheepishly, abandoning his struggle to position his shirt in a decent manner and simply letting it fall over his shoulder, exposing the bare skin that stretched over his prominent collar bone.

"Let's talk about you and me at a later date then, Will," Hannibal smirked. "Let's now discuss the topic of Thomas Caster. You killed him, did you not?"

Will looked down. "I want to say that I didn't, but I fear that the worst has come," he sighed, unable to keep Dr. Lecter's eerily calm gaze for long. _'The worst is me, William. Never forget that.'_

"With that attitude, Will, you will not succeed in stability. This is not the worst thing that could have happened. In fact, as long as you dispose of all evidence of the murder, it might even be a productive improvement," Hannibal mused, ignoring the special agent's incredulous looks. "The problem exists in the matter of why you killed this man. Not that I'm not glad that you finally gave into your desires, but I did not expect you to come to my side so soon. It... Disturbs the balance of things."

"When were things ever balanced, Dr. Lecter? Even now, you have just admitted your crimes to me. You said, 'My side'. Do you believe that I won't report this to Jack and finally get you arrested?" Will frowned. He had been looking for a hole in the cannibal's defence for a very long time. He just hadn't found it yet, and he doubted it would be so easy. _'He's toying with you, Special Agent William. He's playing you just like he did Jack and Alana and everyone else. Dancing on so many people's graves. La la la la la!'_ Will winced; the voice, feeding on his fear, had risen to a shriek, drilling his brain with curse after curse.

"I am the Chesapeake Ripper, that is correct," Hannibal smiled "As you have previously deducted, I am also the copycat killer. And Will, believe me, I have killed more than the FBI could ever dream of. I am not a cannibal, Will. Cannibalism is the consumption of beings the same species as you. No, I am merely a god, feasting on pigs," Hannibal smiled at the wide eyed agent in front of him. "And yes, Will. I do believe that you won't report me. After all, either you rise above the swines and join me, or I feast on _you_."

A cackle. Shrill and piercing. _'Cocky this one, isn't he? Ha ha! I'll have fun with him! Imagine the look his eyes when you drain his veins of blood, suck the air out of his lungs! Kill him.'_

Will's eyes grew wide. "I don't- I don't think it's appropriate for me to continue my therapy anymore. Thank you, Dr. Lecter, for your help, but I think I should be going now."

Will hurriedly picked up his phone and fumbled through his contacts to find Jack's number. He was just about to press call when Hannibal grabbed the small cell and threw it against the wall, denting a beautiful flowery tapestry, making Will flinch.

"I said that you shouldn't report this, William. Not unless you want to live," Hannibal's voice was steely, lacking it's usual compassionate warmth and instead laced with cold malice. His eyes were mocking, however; instead of matching his intimidating demeanour, they looked amused, maybe even joking.

A shudder ran through the special agent's body, which was still covered only by a skimpy silken shirt and underwear, as the buttery light of an autumn midday filtered in feebly from the slightly parted curtains. Hannibal's face was shadowed, still clearly visible, but somehow scarier, as if the light completely avoided contact with the cannibal.

_'Not as scary as me, Will.'_

"Isn't this why you came to me, Will? Because you knew that I would understand? Because you know what I am?"

Will practically ran to the door, turning back with his hand on the copper doorknob. "You're a monster, Hannibal, that's what you are. I won't report you, but let me go. Let me leave, now," he said, trying to keep the waver from his voice. He opened the door. "Goodbye, Hannibal Lecter."

And with that, he ran out of the door and slammed it behind it. He didn't look back until he had burst out onto the street, hesitating for a moment to evaluate his options. He had taken a taxi here; his car was all the way at home, and the distance was too far to run. He could call Jack or Alana to pick him up- but he didn't have his phone. Hannibal had made sure of that.

_'He's smart, he's smart! Plus, you know Jack would throw you in the loony bin. Leave you there and never look back!'_

"Shut up!" Will yelled, finally addressing the voice. It didn't answer, simply cackling quietly in his ear.

He had no options left. "Shit."

He had obviously waited a teensy bit too long deliberating, because he heard the door creak open behind him.

"Language, William," a smooth voice scolded him, as a lady with her child walked past him, eyeing the exposed man warily. The woman pulled the young girl closer to her side and and made a wide circle around Will, as if scared, for whatever reason. _'Oh I wonder, William. Whatever could it be?'_

The curly haired brunette spun around to see a not even slightly concerned Hannibal pulling on a neat jacket while walking towards him. Will's body had already lost the will and strength to run, so he stood, rooted to the ground and not able to take his eyes off the doctor. His maroon eyes were dark, almost black, but toned, the shades that crowned the pupil roaring like an amber fire and fading into a smooth and rich red wine, saturated with a deep colour. Just as intoxicating, too, as Will found himself lost in its aged aroma.

His knees trembled, threatening to give out.

Hannibal came to a stop in front of Will, cocking his head to one side, as if contemplating what to do. Will gasped slightly as his legs held true to their demands, ceasing to hold his weight. His knees hit the ground with a loud crack.

"Why don't you come in, Will? We can talk about this calmly, inside, away from the prying eyes of the local dullards." Hannibal's eyes scanned the surroundings as he spoke, before grabbing Will's arm as gently as he could muster. "You wouldn't want to get exposed would you?" _'Oh yes! Freddy_ _Lounds_ _would have a field day, the bitch!'_

Desperate tears filled the empath's eyes. He nodded, struggling to get up, not a word escaping his lips. It was almost like he had given up. Hannibal knew better. William was strong, just like him; he wasn't one to give in. He would feel the pain of his meanders through the bogs of the criminally insane only temporarily, the doctor was sure of it. He would return to normal shortly, a new scar adorning his face, not yet faded, but swiftly ignored.

As they made their way back into the building, Will stumbling as if he had lost all control of his limbs, he found himself once again mesmerised by the man pulling him along. His chiseled cheekbones and straight jaw, giving the impression of a man cold, hard and impermeable. However those maroon eyes of his and that thin, arched smile held no malice, not towards Will at least.

The doctor tugged Will up the stairs back to his office, leading him, not forcefully, but with conviction; like a dog on a leash. _'That's what you are to him, Will Graham. A dog! A pet! An animal to tame! Just another tedious task for Dr. Hannibal Lecter!'_ the voice laughed, a shrill, unidentifiable sound, like that of a dying child, screaming for its mother.

Once the two men had reached the confines of Hannibal's office, Will slipped his arm out of the taller man's grip and sat back down on the loveseat.

Hannibal seated himself back at his desk and sifted though some papers.

"So, Will," he began. "What would you do, to resolve this situation?"

Will buried his head in his arms. "I don't know. I've become a monster. I'm a murderer. _You're_ a murderer. What have I gotten into?" He mumbled into his shirt, the moisture that had been slowly welling up in his eyes finally spilling, leaving salty streaks down his face.

_'Too weak, Will!'_

Hannibal sighed an stood, holding out his hand.

"We're not monsters, William. At least, I am not. And if you decide to join me, you won't be either. Come with me, Will. Leave the tier of lowly pigs, primal animals. Join me, Will. Join me in the world of gods."

^^^

**_"You're grieving, Will. Not for the life you have taken, but for the life that was taken from you."_ **


	3. Fake Love

"Back again, Will?" Hannibal smiled, quickly striding to his desk to clear his schedule for the night.

Will chuckled. "It's not like I can go to anyone else unless I want the company of padded walls for the rest of my life. Besides, I have an inkling that you wouldn't let me go to anyone save the cost of my beating heart," he smiled to himself. "And I rather value the beating of my heart." ' _The beating of_ our _heart._ '

Hannibal smiled widely. "Then, Will, as an attempt to maintain that life that you hold so dear, would you join me for dinner? You seem rather pale."

Will winced slightly. He had eaten at Hannibal's before, and enjoyed it immensely, yet never after knowing what he was. _'Are you prepared to eat what you know he's going to serve you, Will? Prepared to become even more of a monster?'_

At this, the special agent clenched his jaw. He wanted nothing more than to oppose this unwanted presence in his mind. His fists tightened.

"Gladly," he answered as firmly as he could muster, sitting down in the first chair he saw, so not to break his mask of confidence with his body's incessant trembling. It was at Hannibal's desk, a table littered with notes, books and drawings. One that caught his eye in particular, however, was an intricate sketch of a draped woman, dead, disemboweled and displayed, with a wondrous bouquet of plant life sprouting from her wounds. _'Oh that brings me back! That must have been him as well. He was right under your nose, Will, and you never even considered him! Some detective you are.'_ Will quickly slid the drawing under the rest, for it was close to triggering some not-so-nice memories. The next picture that caught his eye was one of a man kneeling over a body in the midst of war, both clad in Greek-looking tunics or togas and tangled in thorned roses. A closer look proved his suspicions- the man kneeling was indeed Hannibal, eyebrows knitted and tears running down his face, while the man lying on the floor, with a mop of curly hair hiding his eyes, was smiling slightly and unsettlingly in his eternal rest. The drawing didn't disturb Will as much as it should have, for its nature did not bear hostility or malice against him, rather an agony fraught with desire and yearning that the detective all too much related to.

' _Will, I don't know how to break this to you, but you should be disturbed. You should be very disturbed,'_ the voice had become quieter, but it still rang loud and clear in his mind. _Oh, because an imaginary voice in my head telling me to commit brutal genocide isn't disturbing enough?_ Will sighed, standing up, leaving the drawings laying face down on the desk.

He wandered into the kitchen, trying not to look around too much; now that he knew the doctor's cannibalistic nature, everything in his house seemed to Will a tool for murder.

The kitchen was rife with rich smells and odours, clean and unimposing- it was difficult to imagine it being the home of any brutal acts whatsoever, but by this point, Will had learned to strip a book of its cover as quickly as possible; it was often not only misleading, but utterly false.

Hannibal was too busy plating the food to see Will coming, his eyebrows knitted with concentration. The brunette was baffled as to why Hannibal was putting so much effort into presentation when it was only for him and Will. _'Maybe he wants to impress you,'_ the voice drawled. _'Or maybe his pride is just too precious to put even in a slight of danger. You never know.'_

Will coughed, just loudly enough to elicit a reaction to his presence. Hannibal looked up an immediately smiled, his lips forming a perfectly subtle bowed curve.

"Dinner will be just a second, Will. Why don't you find a seat at the table, and I'll join you shortly," the psychiatrist said, his velvety voice deep and soothing as always. The special agent pulled the corners of his lips up politely and wandered into the dining room, an expansive space with a beautifully intricate ebony and lapis décor, complimentary flowers adorning the dark mantle piece; easily the room that unsettled Will the most.

He took the seat adjacent to the head of the table, appraising his surroundings with new eyes. All was different now; alien, dark and imposing. Everything was a threat. And, as Hannibal stepped into the room with graceful flair, carefully plated food in both hands, and a smile so flattering that it was dangerous, Will saw poison in his eyes. A poison so deep and addictive, so slowly seeping through him, that it numbed his wariness into a dull disattachment, one the special agent couldn't get enough of. _'It will bite back at you Will. You know it, don't you? It's killing you. If you die, it's over. I will be with you forever. Even as you crumble and rot and peel and flake into the ground, I will be there. Even the screams of hell won't drown me out._  
_The chains you so carelessly bear will just bind me to you. You know. You know me.'_

Will knew. He had realised long ago that the tendrils of impending insanity might finally catch up to his ever-running mind. But there was no turning back now. He was falling, and no force on earth could pull him back.

^^^

_**"Betrayal and forgiveness are best seen as something akin to falling in love."** _


End file.
